


'Now What' Will Just Have to Wait

by scatterglory



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Common fandom cliche (Peter doesn't like Neal using his body to get information) followed by et cetera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Now What' Will Just Have to Wait

**Author's Note:**

> The unnamed male character referred to isn't really meant to be anyone from the series, but could be Dorsett if it pleases the reader. Loosely set some time before 1x07. Unbeta'd because I finished it this morning and wanted to post it before tomorrow night. :D It was originally supposed to be a gritty fic with a totally different title, but then it flipped me the bird and did this. Sigh.

**'Now What' Will Just Have to Wait**

 

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Peter's hands grabbing his shirt, shoving him against the wall. "You've done some stupid shit before, Neal, but this--!"

Neal feels the small smile on his lips, knows his eyes are laughing. Peter's face is contorted, dark, tense. His hands are twisted in the black t-shirt Neal's wearing, his body is pressing Neal back into the wall, his face is just inches away from Neal's.

"I had it under control, Peter." Neal is pleased that he sounds so calm.

"Under cont--the hell you did! He was all over you! What if he'd wanted you to come up to his room? What if he'd wanted to--to--"

Neal smiles into Peter's dark eyes. "Who says he didn't?"

Peter's mouth works soundlessly. Neal can tell that the fight's going out of his partner. He reaches up and gently removes Peter's hands from his shirt. Peter starts slightly as Neal lowers their hands. Neal doesn't let go.

"Peter." Neal's tone is eminently reasonable. "You needed information. He needed the thrill of the chase. I knew _exactly_ what I was doing."

Peter swallows, looks like he wants to protest.

"I know his type," Neal continues. "Rich, smart, arrogant. They're completely predictable. They need to be flattered, coddled, made to believe that they're the ones calling the shots. They need attention. They need challenge. They need excitement. And you--" He makes sure he's looking into Peter's eyes. "You need to trust me." He releases Peter's hands, and Peter takes a small step back.

The FBI agent frowns. "You're just lucky no one else figured out you were going to meet him by yourself. You pull something like that again, and I won't be able to cover for you."

"Will you trust me about things like this in the future?"

Peter looks away. "Trust has nothing to do with it."

"Oh?"

"I know you have . . . experience . . ." Peter trails off awkwardly. After a pause, he looks at Neal and starts again. "Listen, if you could read him half as well as you can read women, then yeah, I trust that you knew what you were doing. That's not the point."

Neal looks at him questioningly.

"The point is, you don't do stuff like that in the FBI. What if something had gone wrong? What if your cover had been blown? You might be okay with that risk, but I want to keep my job. And--" He stops abruptly.

Neal raises an eyebrow.

Peter glares at him. "Dammit, Neal, I know you think the FBI's full of idiots, but we do know a thing or two about getting information. There's no need for you to . . . to _use_ yourself like that!"

"Use myself? You mean, my body?" Neal's tone is amused, sharp. "How do you know I wasn't enjoying it?"

The look in Peter's eyes--hurt? disgust?--cuts into Neal. The words hang in the air.

Peter takes a deep breath, looks at the floor. When he raises his head, his eyes are distant. Professional. Neal feels something twist in his stomach. Without a word, Peter turns and heads for the door.

Biting his lip, Neal grabs Peter's sleeve. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Peter turns, meets his eyes warily. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry for busting in like that." He doesn't pull out of Neal's grasp.

Neal searches his eyes, cocks his head to the side. "Peter . . ."

"What?" Still wary.

"Why do you care if I use my body to get information?" His eyes are as guileless as he can make them.

Peter stiffens. "I--"

Neal takes a step forward. "I'm just a criminal. I was in prison for almost four years; you can't think I'm new to this."

Peter's jaw clenches. "You're not in prison now. I got you out, and you're under my protection."

"So it's because I'm . . . yours?"

"What? No!" Now Peter pulls away. He sounds almost angry. "Jesus, Neal, you're not a piece of property! You're not some _thing_ to be used--you're better than that!"

"Am I?" His tone is neutral.

"You know you are." Peter sounds slightly suspicious, but continues. "You're smart, talented, classy, creative--too confident for your own good, but no one's perfect."

"You make me sound like an expensive whore."

"That's not what I--!"

"What am I, Peter?" He raises his voice for the first time, cutting of Peter's protests. He closes the distance between them and Peter falls back involuntarily. Now Peter's back is to the wall.

"Not an object. Not a whore. What am I?" he asks quietly, his face inches away from Peter.

"You're--" Peter gulps. "You're my partner."

Neal pulls back for a moment, smiles sweetly. Then he leans forward and kisses Peter.

Peter tenses, hands flying to Neal's shoulders, pushing him away--

Neal grabs Peter's wrists, pins them down by his sides. He leans his weight into Peter, pushing his knee between Peter's legs, pushing his tongue into Peter's mouth. Peter moans into Neal's mouth and goes limp. Neal grinds their hips together, sucks on Peter's bottom lip. Then Peter's kissing him back, wet, desperate, hands clenching and unclenching in Neal's grasp. Neal backs off ever so slightly. Peter freezes, his eyes wide, confused. Neal draws Peter's wrists together against the wall, behind his back. He holds them loosely in one hand--suggesting, not forcing. Peter's breath catches in his chest as Neal's free hand traces its way to his front, up his chest, to caress his neck and jaw. Neal pins Peter with his gaze for a moment, then turns Peter's head to the side. Peter closes his eyes and gasps when Neal kisses his neck.

"God--!" Peter's whole body shudders as Neal's teeth graze his skin. Neal sucks his neck, just gently enough to avoid leaving a mark, then pulls away abruptly. He releases Peter's wrists and steps back. Peter sags slightly against the wall and looks at Neal, confused, vulnerable.

"You've wanted me for years." He makes it a statement, not a question.

Peter swallows once, visibly struggling to compose himself. "No, I--"

"Save it." He laughs once. "I know when someone wants me, Peter."

"I never meant--"

"So what, you got me out of prison so I could honestly just be a consultant? You took on all the risk, all the extra work, just on the off-chance it might pan out?" He grins at Peter. "We both know I'm good, Peter, but I'm not that good."

Peter shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. "I just had a hunch . . ."

Neal presses against him again. "That's not what I'd call it." His hand slips down between them, cups Peter, strokes him gently. Peter's hips jerk forward. Neal brushes his lips against Peter's ear. "This would be so much easier if you'd just say it."

"S-say w-what?" Peter's voice is strained.

For a moment, Neal hesitates. He's mostly sure that he knows what Peter wants--that despite the agent's love of matching him, outsmarting him, catching him, what really draws Peter to him is the overwhelming, irresistible power of his self-assurance . . . that Peter wants to be his target, to surrender his charisma, his confidence, his knowledge. It's time to finally find out for certain. "Say you want me to fuck you."

Peter makes a strangled noise that might be a laugh, might be a choke. "I can't believe you just said that."

Blue eyes search brown. "Tell me I'm wrong."

" . . . you're not."

They're still for a moment, Neal's hand still on Peter's crotch. Their chests pressed together, rising and falling in time. Their mouths so close that they can feel each other's breath. Then Neal steps back, taking both Peter's hands and pulling Peter with him. Peter follows for a few steps, before a shadow passes over his face. Neal knows what he's thinking--El, what will she say, I can't do this to her--and understands; but from the first time he met El, he knew she knew. He knew that she didn't hate him. And he knew that, no matter what the consequences will be, they have to do this.

"You can say no."

Peter knows too. "No. I can't."

Neal gives Peter a small half-smile and leads him to the bed. He knows the answer already, but asks anyway. "Have you done this before?"

Peter shakes his head. He looks so very serious. Neal's sure it's a mask, guarding against fear, guilt, everything. He thinks it would probably be easier for Peter if they continued as they'd started--if he was . . . not rough, exactly, but . . . Maybe Peter could explain it away, then--chemical, primal, sexual, whatever. But while Neal knows--absolutely knows--that he'd never have gotten Peter to this point without that initial, sudden outburst of lust, he also knows that this has never been just about sex. Not for all these years. Not for Peter.

Not for him.

He pulls Peter into his arms, holds the taller man close. He can feel the tension radiating off of Peter's frame. Following an instinct, he lets his hands travel up Peter's back. He cups the back of Peter's neck in one hand, and wraps the fingers of his other hand in Peter's hair. His strong, skilled fingers rub the corded muscles of Peter's neck, slowly, firmly, and Peter exhales into his shoulder. Gradually the tension begins to leave Peter's body, until he's leaning into Neal, his arms draped around Neal's waist, his breathing deep and even.

When Peter is completely loose, Neal gently guides him down onto the bed. Peter tries to prop himself up on his elbows, but Neal's hand is on his chest, pushing him onto his back.

"Relax, Peter. Let go." On his hands and knees, Neal bends forward and follows Peter down, kissing his neck. Peter sighs. Neal's hands find the buttons of Peter's shirt and undo them one by one. He traces the warm skin of Peter's chest, making the other man shiver. Neal's hands travel lower, undoes Peter's belt. Peter tenses under him, and Neal stops. He looks Peter in the eyes. "This is pretty much a necessary step," he says casually.

Peter fidgets uncomfortably. "I know. I'm just not used to not being--"

"In control?" Somehow that doesn't surprise Neal, although he's not sure he completely believes it. Elizabeth doesn't exactly seem submissive. But he'd rather not bring that up . . . instead, he gives Peter a serious look. "What makes you think you've ever been in control of this?"

Neal knows his choice of words is risky; Peter could balk, freak out, resist. Peter looks at him disbelievingly for a moment, and Neal can almost read the thoughts as they fly through his mind, cataloging each step of their journey together. Neal realizes he's holding his breath.

The Peter sinks down into the bed, all resistance gone. He smiles wryly at Neal. "I guess you're right."

Neal's heart swells, and he smiles back. "I usually am."

Any retort Peter might have made is forgotten as Neal pulls off his t-shirt in one smooth movement. Peter shrugs the rest of the way out of his shirt, and they fall into each other's arms, kissing, nuzzling, exploring each other. Neal feels himself getting hard just from Peter's hesitant caresses, the way Peter's hands trace lightly over the muscles in his back, Peter's cautious kisses on Neal's neck. Neal wants nothing more than to touch Peter everywhere at once, taste him, suck him, fuck him--but he forces himself to wait, to let Peter get used to the feel of his body, firm and sculpted rather than soft and curved. Peter's hand settles on Neal's ass, and then Peter's knee shoves a fraction of an inch between Neal's legs. Neal maneuvers his lower leg between Peter's, and then they're twined together, thrusting and rubbing against each other. Peter's making low noises in the back of his throat; Neal doesn't even think he knows he's doing it. Neal shifts his hips and slides his hands down Peter's stomach, under his pants, brushing Peter's erection through his briefs. Peter moans into Neal's mouth and Neal smiles against his lips. He slides his fingers under the waistband of Peter's underwear, rubbing small circles in the skin of his lower abs. Peter thrusts up involuntarily, but Neal doesn't give him what he wants. Not yet.

"Tell me what you want," he breathes into Peter's mouth.

"Neal--"

"I need to hear you say it."

"I--I want you to--" he swallows. "Touch me."

"Where?"

"My dick. God, Neal, I want you to touch my dick."

Neal slips his hand all the way into Peter's underwear, circling his fingers around his cock. He strokes Peter slowly, his grip firm and even. Peter's breathing is ragged, and his hand clutches Neal's ass.

When Peter's hips thrust into his hand, he pulls away. Peter makes what from anyone else would be a whimper. Neal reaches out, brushes his hand over Peter's crotch one more time, and then unzips Peter's pants. "Off."

Peter looks at him, but doesn't protest. He kicks off his shoes and slips his pants and underwear down over his hips. Rising up on his knees, Neal does the same. Then they're both naked, on the bed, staring at each other.

Neal crawls forward and Peter lays back down. Neal puts one hand and one knee on either side of Peter's body. Their cocks are both completely erect, straining up towards their stomachs. Being over Peter like this, Neal doesn't know how much longer his self-control will last. He takes a deep breath.

"Touch my dick, Peter."

Peter glances down, then up into Neal's face. Neal wants to watch Peter's hand move slowly towards him, wants to take Peter's hand in his and guide it, wants to feel their hands on him together. But instead he holds completely still, meeting Peter's gaze, waiting.

The barest brush of fingers on his cock make his entire body contract. Then Peter grips him firmly, and his arms buckle. He buries his face in Peter's shoulder with a moan. "God, that's so _good_." Peter keeps stroking him, and Neal knows he's too close--he reaches down and draws Peter's hand away. Kissing Peter's neck, he murmurs, "I want to come inside of you."

He feels Peter swallow. ". . . okay."

He laughs. "Okay's not enough. I need--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Peter shuts his eyes. "I want you to . . . fuck me."

Neal kisses Peter's eyelids, and rolls off the bed. From his nightstand drawer, he pulls out a condom and lube. Peter's watching him as he crawls back onto the bed. "What do I--?"

"Lay on your stomach."

Peter rolls over, and Neal's eyes run over the sleek muscles of his back, the firmness of his ass, the curve of his shoulders. "This will feel weird at first. Just relax, and breathe."

Peter crosses his arms and rests his forehead on them. "I'm ready."

Neal coats his finger with lube, and gently caresses Peter's ass with his other hand. Bending forward, his kisses the smooth skin. Then, spreading Peter's cheeks, he slowly begins to push his finger inside.

Peter tenses, then exhales deeply. Neal can feel him trying to relax, and pauses. "Just let go, Peter. Breathe." He pushes in further, and has to take a deep breath himself. It's been too long, and the feel of Peter clenching around his finger is affecting him more than he'd anticipated.

Once his first finger is all the way inside, the second follows more quickly. The third is easier still, and Peter moans.

"Good?" Neal asks.

"Y-yeah."

Neal thinks Peter's ready. He pulls his fingers out, reaches for the condom. Once it's on, he slides his hand under Peter's stomach. "Up."

Peter shifts back onto his elbows and knees. Neal hovers over him, and kisses the skin at the base of his neck. "You can still say no."

"No. I mean, yes. I mean--"

Neal kisses him again, and starts to gently push inside. He feels Peter tense, then relax, like before; it's torture to move this slowly, and his bites his lip. He stops when he's all the way in, savoring the moment, the feeling. Then he pulls out slightly, and thrusts back in. Peter grunts.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

He knows it's got to hurt, and he also knows that Peter won't tell him. He thrusts again and again, firm and deep, looking for the perfect angle--

"Shit!" Peter gasps as Neal hits his prostate. Neal goes faster, feeling Peter strain back against him. The world narrows to their bodies moving together, the panting of their breaths, the sweat slick between them, the waves of pleasure rising and cresting again and again and again. Neal can feel himself slipping--he's trying to hold on, to wait, but he's losing control--

He reaches around Peter, his hand still slick with lube, and grips Peter's cock. He hits Peter's prostate again and Peter cries out, his cock spasming in Neal's hand, his body convulsing around Neal's cock. Neal lets himself go then, coming harder than he ever has before. Peter collapses onto the bed and Neal falls with him, both of them shaking with the aftereffects of pleasure.

After several long moments, Neal rolls off Peter with a groan. He drops the condom into the small trashcan beside the bed and looks over at Peter.

Peter's face is buried in a pillow, muffling his voice. "That was--"

"Yeah." He traces a finger down the length of Peter's spine, over his ass. Peter raises his head and looks at him. Neal returns his stare.

"Now what?" Peter asks after a pause.

Neal purses his lips contemplatively and looks up at the ceiling. Now what about Elizabeth? Now what about the job? Now what about us?

He looks back at Peter, studying his face. "I think," he begins slowly, then stops. Peter's face is serious. Neal cracks a half-smile. "I think we could both use a shower." In one motion he pushes up off the bed and onto his feet. Peter's eyes run up and down his body.

"You're welcome to join me."

Peter looks like he wants to say something, but stops. He returns Neal's half-smile as he gets up, and follows Neal towards the bathroom.

'Now what' will just have to wait.

 

_Fin._


End file.
